One Sane Choice
by Tylanoid
Summary: Voldemort won't rest until he's dead. Dumbledore wants to steer him towards a confrontation which will probably end with that exact outcome. Faced with two impossible choices, Harry does what any sane person would do. He runs. AUFic! African Wizarding school Uagadou fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Of all the people Harry might expect to be in his room at Privet Drive, Severus Snape is not one of them. His thin, sallow features are leaning over the top of his bed, hands gripping both of Harry's shoulders as he shakes him. True to form, he's not gentle.

"Potter! Get up!"

It would be strange for Snape to be in his dorm room at Hogwarts, but at Privet Drive? It's downright bizarre.

"Snape?" Harry slurs, reaching for his glasses. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Snape doesn't even bother to chide him for the lack of respect. Whatever he's there for, it's obviously important. "Get dressed and pack your things. You're leaving."

Harry rubs the sleep from his eyes. _The one night I don't dream about Sirius' death and I get woken up._

"What are you talking about? Dumbledore said-" Harry begins.

"Will you just listen to me for once in your worthless life?" Snape hisses.

Scowling, Harry throws the blankets off, ignoring the lack of privacy the potions master gives. He quickly dresses. "What's going on? Has something happened? Is everyone all right?" Harry asks quickly, shoving his wand into the waistband of his jeans. With Voldemort back and out into the open once more, it seems the only logical explanation for the man's presence.

"Just pack your things! Try not to wake your relatives. This will go much easier if they don't notice you're gone."

In a huff, Harry drags out his suitcase and begins packing it again, though it's only been a few weeks since he unpacked it after his fifth year. "Can you at least tell me where we're going? Hogwarts? The Burrow?"

"You move slower than a flobberworm dosed with Drowsiness Draught," Snape says irritably, ignoring the question. With a wave of his wand, Harry's belongings fold and pack themselves neatly away. "Now, hurry up, we're leaving."

 _This is all way too suspicious…_ Harry reaches for his wand.

"Petrificus Totalus."

Harry's body stiffens and he falls backwards helplessly onto his bed. Snape looms over him. "If I was going to harm you, I would have done it while you were still asleep, idiot child!"

 _Well, that's true._

"Now, for _once,_ can you just follow instructions?"

Harry couldn't answer even if he wanted to.

"I'm going to release you, and if you reach for your wand again, I will feed you potions that will _force_ your compliance. It will not be comfortable," Snape promises. _"Finite Incantatem."_ The spell releases, and Harry slowly sits up. He doesn't reach for his wand again, though it would be a lie to say that he wasn't still suspicious.

"Now, get your invisibility cloak, then follow me with your trunk and that blasted bird." This time, Harry doesn't argue. He follows Snape down into the kitchen, after Snape levitates his trunk and Hedwig's cage down the stairs so they don't wake his aunt and uncle.

"So, where are we going?" Harry asks quietly, trying to sound more polite this time.

"Diagon Alley."

Harry wants to ask a million questions, the most pertinent being _why,_ but no doubt Snape wouldn't deign it necessary to answer. Still, he has to say _something._ "But it's nearly two o'clock in the morning! Nobody will even _be_ there!"

It seems to take all of Snape's willpower not to snap back at him. "That's exactly why we're going _now,"_ he says. "And Gringotts is open twenty-four hours a day."

Harry follows Snape out of the back door of the house. "Why aren't we going out the front?"

"Must you ask so many incessant questions?" Snape grumbles. "I want to make sure we're not seen, even by that squib across the road."

 _Does that mean Dumbledore doesn't even know Snape is here?_ If Harry was suspicious before, then he's even more sorely tempted to pull out his wand again, now. Something tells him it's the wrong move to make. If Snape wanted to harm him, it's the strangest, most roundabout way of doing so, especially since he had to wake Harry in the first place.

 _Might as well see what's going on._

At the end of the backyard, Snape spells a hole in the fence and urges Harry to climb through. Snape follows after him and casts a quick reparo to fix it from the other side.

"Take it," Snape says, holding out his left arm. With his free hand, the one not dragging his trunk and Hedwig, Harry reaches out to grab the outstretched arm.

And then they're spinning.

When they stop, Harry staggers away and promptly vomits onto the stone pavement of Diagon Alley.

"Most people vomit upon first apparition, especially side-apparition," Snape explains, completely unsympathetic.

Harry wipes at his mouth. "You could have warned me."

Snape shrugs. "Wouldn't have changed the outcome."

Harry shakes his head and looks pointedly away. _Bastard._

"Now, I need you to follow my next instructions very carefully. Take your cloak and wear it all the way up to Gringotts. It's very important that you aren't seen."

Harry wants to tell him that there's not exactly going to be crowds of people around at this time of night, but a man like Snape isn't going to want to take any chances.

"Be careful not to wear the cloak inside the bank. The goblins won't take kindly to it. Take it off at the front steps. Go to your vault and take out enough to transfer to about fifteen-thousand muggle pounds."

"Wait, you want me to transfer galleons to muggle money? Why-"

Snape lifts a hand. "No questions, just do it."

Harry sighs and nods.

"Then, make your way back here."

With a shrug, Harry throws the cloak over his shoulders and makes his way towards the bank.

* * *

"Really? A Muggle hotel?"

"What part of ' _don't want to be seen'_ do you not understand?" Snape asks. "Nobody is going to be looking for you in muggle London."

"But you still haven't told me _why_ we can't be seen!" Harry argues.

Snape shakes his head. "Use your head, boy! If I don't want us to be seen, then obviously I don't want to be overheard, either!" When Harry goes to open his mouth again, Snape lets out a calming breath and continues. "Just get the room, and I'll explain what's going on."

Feeling more irritable by every second spent with the greasy potions master, Harry walks up to the desk. It's not the flashiest hotel in the world, which is probably why Snape picked it. If the bored looking clerk is surprised to see a sixteen year old boy booking his own room at two o'clock in the morning, he doesn't show it, simply taking Harry's money and giving him a room key for the third floor.

Snape follows him up, even going so far as to help him with his trunk. The room itself isn't much, just a double bed and a TV mounted on the wall. Harry doesn't waste any time dumping his belongings onto the floor and turning towards Snape.

"Explain," he says. It's clear now that Snape isn't trying to harm it at all, but the need for secrecy, apparently even from Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, has him more suspicious than ever.

Snape gingerly places Hedwig's cage down on the floor of the room. "Sit," he orders, motioning towards the bed.

Harry just stares at him, until Snape motions once more towards the bed. Clearly not going to get answers until he does as Snape asks, Harry throws up his hands in surrender and sits on the end of the bed.

"Don't interrupt me until I'm done. There is much to say, and it will be difficult enough without you asking incessant questions the entire time."

Harry nods without hesitation.

"Yesterday evening I had a conversation with the headmaster," he begins. "A conversation about you, and about the Dark Lord."

Harry screws up his nose at the use of his enemy's self-given title, but he doesn't interrupt.

"He told me about what really happened that night in Godric's hollow."

"If this is about the prophecy, Dumbledore already told me," Harry says with a roll of his eyes.

"Didn't I tell you not to interrupt?" Snape snarls. "And if you believe that Albus has told you _everything,_ then you're an even bigger fool than I thought you were."

Harry eyes him warily. He's never heard any teacher speak that way about the headmaster. As far as he could tell, they all thought that he was completely infallible.

"Understand, I have a great deal of respect for him. He is a brilliant wizard, but that does not mean that I agree with all of his decisions. There is one in particular that he revealed to me that I cannot abide."

Harry shifts on the bed, a sickly pit forming in his stomach. Finding out about the prophecy was bad enough, but somehow Harry gets the feeling that this is going to be even worse.

"On the night that the Dark Lord cast the killing curse, and it rebounded, a part of himself lingered behind, and it clung to the only living thing it could find."

 _No…_

"A part of the Dark Lord _lives_ inside you, Potter."

He doesn't want to believe it, but it just makes too much sense, like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. The reason he can speak parseltongue… the reason he can see into Voldemort's head - it's all become abundantly clear. Not only that, but Dumbledore has known the entire time, had alluded to it right after the events in the Chamber of Secrets.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Harry announces, cupping his hands over his mouth before rushing towards the bathroom. He vomits for the second time that night. Harry rolls from where he's kneeling in front of the toilet until his back is pressed against the wall, and he puts his face into his knees.

Snape is standing in the doorway.

"That's why he didn't die, isn't it?" Harry asks softly. "I'm the reason he's still alive?"

When Snape answers, it's low and soft, almost sympathetic, though still a long way from being comforting. "I don't think that's a fair assessment to make."

"Isn't it? If I was dead, would the part of him that's in me die as well? Could he have come back? Is that why he needed my blood to return?"

Snape lets out a long breath. "I'm not going to pretend to have all the answers, but I _will_ say that I do not believe that the part of the Dark Lord that lives in you is the only part of him out there."

"But if I were to die, the part of Voldemort that lives in me would die as well?"

Snape glares. "Do all you Gryffindor's have rotted brains? Not everything requires a foolishly noble self sacrifice! I just told you that I find it highly unlikely that it's the only piece of him out there, so even if you _were_ to die, he would still live!"

"But eventually, I'm going to have to… die, for him to be defeated?"

Snape pinches the bridge of his nose. "Save me from the idiocy of Gryffindors," he mutters. "How about we instead focus on _ridding_ you of it?"

Harry hesitates. "Is it possible? Wouldn't Dumbledore have already done it if it were?"

"Why do you think I'm _here?_ Dumbledore has accepted what he thinks must be - that you must die for Voldemort to be defeated."

Harry feels the sting of betrayal, but at the same time, he can understand the logic. After all, it had led him to the same conclusion. "But _you_ know a way to get it out?" Harry asks disbelievingly.

"…No, but I've yet to see any evidence that it cannot be done. In fact, I rather believe that it _can."_

"But Dumbledore is the strongest wizard-"

"He is not perfect **,** Potter, no matter how much some people may think. He does not know everythingabout magic."

Harry drops his head back against the wall with a thud. "So Dumbledore wants me dead, and you want me to live. What a world…"

"He doesn't _want_ you dead, Potter," Snape clarifies. "But he has come to the conclusion that for the Dark Lord to be fully vanquished, your eventual death is of paramount importance."

"You'll forgive me if I'm struggling to see the difference," Harry complains bitterly.

"Like I said before, I respect the headmaster, but I don't agree with all of his decisions. I would have you _live."_

Harry climbs back to his feet to look Snape in the eye. "Why? After all these years am I supposed to believe suddenly that you don't hate me?"

"No, I do hate you. My reasons for wanting you alive are my own." Snape stares him down unflinchingly.

"Not good enough. I want to talk to Dumbledore."

"Are you truly so dense?"

"It's not like he would hurt me. Even if I have to die for Voldemort to die, he won't be the one to do it. He's still Dumbledore."

"Of course he won't hurt you, stupid child. He's dangerous in an altogether different way. His machinations have led you to this point in your life, and rest assured, they will lead to your death if they are let continue unimpeded."

Harry stands and faces Snape. "Then what am I supposed to do? Avoid him forever? Not return to Hogwarts?" He's being sarcastic, but the look on Snape's face tells him that's exactly his plan. "Absolutely not. Hogwarts is my _home,"_ Harry says firmly.

"Between the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore, it might as well be your coffin. The Dark Lord will not rest until you are dead, and Dumbledore will not rest until the Dark Lord is defeated, and he is convinced that _you_ must die for that to be a reality. Tell me, how do you expect to escape the fate that two of the most powerful and influential wizards in the world have set out for you?"

The words hit him like a confundus charm. He's been through more emotions in the past ten minutes than in the past week, and the thoughts bouncing around in his head feel like enough to crack straight through his skull. "This is _insane,"_ Harry announces, pushing past Snape and heading back towards the bed. He lays back on it to stare at the roof. He can feel Snape's eyes watching him from the other side of the room.

"You have only one sane choice, Potter. You have to leave."

"And where the hell would I go?"

"Somewhere neither Dumbledore nor the Dark Lord can find you, obviously."

Harry shakes his head. "I'm not going to cut and run. I'm no coward. I'm not going to run away and let my friends fight my war _for_ me."

Snape storms across the room and grabs him by the collar, forcing him into a sitting position. "For you? You think people are fighting this war for _you?"_ Snape's magic billows around him, an invisible barrier of power. "Are you so arrogant to believe that you are the only reason people stand against the Dark Lord? Does your tiny mind even comprehend that this is _bigger_ than you? We are allat risk, and that is true whether you are here or not."

"All the more reason for me to stay and fight beside them!" Harry argues. They're almost nose to nose, now, both red and blotchy with rage.

Snape is the first to back down. "This isn't helping," he decides. "I'm not asking you to stay out of this war forever. I am asking you to leave and find a way to rid yourself of the piece of the Dark Lord living inside you. I am asking you to study, and to become powerful enough to finally end the Dark Lord. The Prophecy names you as the chosen one? Become worthy of it!"

It's something he'd been intending to do anyway. He's been able to think of little else since term ended. The prophecy states that neither can live while the other survives, but how is he supposed to be able to killone of the most powerful and skilled wizards who has ever lived?

"Is this why you're helping me? You're relying on the word of a prophecy that I'll come and kill Voldemort for you?"

Snape growls. "Your arrogance truly knows no bounds. I told you, my reasons are my own."

Harry shakes his head. "No. If you want me to do this, you need to give me a proper reason."

Snape glares, more vicious than Harry can ever remember. "I'm not helping _you._ You're right, if it was up to me, I could care less whether you live or die. I help you because of your mother."

"My mother?" Harry tries to ask.

"That is _all_ I will speak of this," Snape says, enunciating heavily. His lips are pressed tight together, and there's no doubt that he means what he says. He will not say another word about it.

 _My mother? He knew her? Were they friends?_

"I am tired of this conversation. I have done all I can do persuade you to my way of thinking. The decision is ultimately yours." Without another word, Snape turns on his heels and leaves.

* * *

Harry doesn't get a wink of sleep. He knows its stupid, but it's like he can feel Voldemort's broken soul inside of him, like a pussy sore growing in his head.

It's a strange sensation, arguing with one's self, but Harry has been doing it for hours. Somehow he's reached the point where it's both selfish to leave, and selfish to stay. One the one hand, if he leaves, it's like he's running away, leaving the Weasleys and Hermione behind in a war-torn community.

On the other, if he stays, there's really very little he can do. He is talented at defensive magic, but he's just a sixth year, and his opponent knows incredibly powerful, dark magic, and is probably the most skilled wizard to ever live. How can Harry compete with that? At least if he leaves it gives him a chance to study away from the chaos, as well as to try to find a way to get rid of Voldemort from his head.

Snape doesn't return until just after eight in the morning. He has heavy bags under his eyes, and his movements are slow and ragged. "You're still here," Snape says, his eyebrow raised in an arc.

Harry shrugs. "You made a compelling argument."

Someone steps into the room behind the potions master. "What the hell? What is _he_ doing here?" Harry yells.

"Nice to see you too, Potter," Draco Malfoy drawls sarcastically. He's dragging a black trunk behind him, his initials inscribed on the top in ornate silver letters.

 _Why does he have…_

"No. Absolutely not," Harry says. There's only one reason Malfoy would bring his belongings with him.

"And here I was so excited for a roadtrip," Malfoy's voice is practically oozing disdain. "I told you this was a bad idea, Severus."

"Both of you, be silent."

"His father's a death eater!"

"Yes, and Draco is here to avoid the same fate," Snape explains.

"Bullshit. He's been acting like a mini death-eater for as long as I've known him."

"Really? When was the last time I tried to murder you?" Malfoy asks dryly.

Harry ignores him. "You can't seriously think this is a good idea."

"Seconded," Malfoy says. It would be surprising to hear Malfoy agree with him if it were literally anything other than them stating their dislike of one another.

Snape mutters under his breath, a curse that sounds suspiciously like the word 'teenagers'. "Actually, I do think it's a good idea. Both of you need to disappear, and for very similar reasons and from the same people. It make perfect logical sense to go together."

"Except for the fact that we will probably kill each other,"Harry adds.

"Sometimes I wonder if you are actually _capable_ of coherent thought," Snape says. "It doesn't matter how much you get along, or rather don't. What is important is that you are both in the same predicament, and that you can keep each other safe."

"Oh good, going into hiding with just Malfoy for company," Harry groans. "I think I'd prefer _you_ came along."

"Not possible. You know that my position within the order is too important."

"I was _kidding,"_ Harry stresses. "I don't want you to come any more than him,"Harry motions towards Malfoy.

"Merlin save me, you are just too warm and fluffy," Malfoy says with an air of sarcastic humor.

"Draco, be quiet," Snape orders. Surprisingly, Malfoy obeys. If he were any other Hogwarts teacher, Harry's sure he wouldn't be nearly so respectful.

"So, you agree?" Snape asks, leveling his serious dark eyes on him.

"Yes, fine, I agree," Harry says quickly, though truthfully he has some pretty major doubts. He's not sure if in this situation there even _is_ a right decision. "What do we do from here?"

Snape lets out a sigh of relief. Evidently, he hadn't believed Harry would actually listen. "From here, it's up to you. It's safer if I don't know where you're going. To that end, I've procured these for you."

Snape reaches inside his robe and pulls out two small, maroon booklets. Official British passports.

"How did you get those?" Harry asks, taking the one offered him just as Malfoy takes the other. On the inside is a clear picture of Harry, along with his name and address, though he has no memory of any photo ever being taken.

"It doesn't matter. They are official. You have your freedom, use it wisely," Snape says, turning around to leave.

"Wait!" Harry calls before he reaches the door. "Won't Dumbledore be suspicious of you?"

Snape scowls. "As soon as I return to Hogwarts, I will be taking a forgetfulness potion. I will have no memory of any of this. Even if he is suspicious, I cannot reveal information I do not know."

 _Snape doesn't do anything by halves…_

Again without another word, Snape walks out, leaving Harry alone in the hotel room with Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

In his wildest dreams, Harry could never have imagined a more bizarre situation. Here he is, standing across from Draco Malfoy in a random muggle hotel room, thinking of leaving the country with only a boy he despises for company.

 _On second thought, when do my school years ever start out normal?_

"So, what did Severus say to get the gilded hero to want to run with his tail tucked between his legs?" Draco asks, breaking the awkward silence. His typical smug smirk is stamped onto his pointy face.

It's all Harry can do not to step forward and punch him. If it wasn't for the relief that Draco has to ask the question at all, he might have done exactly that. After all, if he needs to ask, that means Snape never told him, and Harry would prefer that _nobody_ knows that there's a part of Voldemort living inside him. But relief isn't enough to stop him from arguing back.

"Takes one to know one. I shouldn't be surprised that you're here. Even with your entire family involved, you're still too much of a coward to fight for your beliefs."

For a very brief second, Draco looks surprised. Then he snarls, showing white teeth behind pulled back lips. His wand drops into his hand out of a holster kept on his forearm. "You don't know what you're on about," he hisses.

As always, Draco is happy to dish out the insults, but when it comes to taking them, he loses control. "And neither do you," Harry snaps back. "Now put that away before you do something that'll get us caught before we even decide where we're going."

Draco glares, but with a huff he lifts his sleeve and snaps the wand back into his holster. Even angry, Draco isn't stupid. Magic is utterly out of the question for both of them. They both still have the trace, so even the most minor spell will make their escape all but impossible.

Harry sits back on the bed, letting his head drop backwards in frustration. "I can't _believe_ I'm stuck with you," he groans.

"Believe it or not, this isn't a dream come true for me, either."

Neither of them wants to admit the truth out loud. They need to find a way to work together, and they're both too stubborn to listen to the other after years of rivalry.

 _One of us has to give in first…_

It might as well be him. Merlin knows it'll be a miracle if he can get Draco to listen to him. "It won't be long before people notice we're gone, so we need to make a plan," Harry says. He takes a deep breath before he continues. "Do _you_ have any ideas?"

Draco's eyes open wide, as if he can't believe that Harry is actually asking for his opinion. Not that it would ever happen, but Harry would be just as surprised if Draco had done the same thing.

"Well, obviously we can't stay in Britain. Even if we lived as muggles in the middle of nowhere there would be too great a chance of discovery. If we did something like that, we'd have to live like muggles, and I will _not_ live like a muggle, and I'm not giving up my education," Draco says firmly.

Harry rolls his eyes, more at Draco's petulance than because he disagrees. "Obviously," Harry says. "I don't want to live like a muggle, either."

 _Or can't afford to. Not if I want to learn enough to defeat Voldemort for good._

Malfoy's lips twist back into a smirk, and Harry knows even before he speaks that he's about to insult him. "What would Dumbledore think if knew that his prized golden boy wasn't the champion of muggles like he is?"

There would normally be no chance that Harry can ignore a taunt from the blonde, but right now, Dumbledore would be almost the last person he would want to defend.

Draco looks deflated when Harry continues on as if he hadn't said anything at all. "So Britain is out of the question, but we still need to learn magic. What about Durmstrang or Beauxbatons?"

Draco shakes his head. "The Dark Lord has contacts at both. Hell, they found Karkaroff a few days ago based on information coming out of Durmstrang, so how long would _we_ last? I think all of Europe might be out of the question. There's no telling how far his influence reaches."

 _All of Europe?_ If it wasn't coming out of the mouth of someone so connected to the Death Eaters, Harry would never believe it. How can someone so twisted and evil have so many followers?

Harry sighs. "So that already takes out three of the best wizarding schools in the world."

Draco wags a finger. "But not _all_ the wizarding schools. They might be the best in Europe, but there are eleven major wizarding schools throughout the world, and only three of them are completely out of the question."

 _There are eleven?_ Far from the first time, Harry curses his muggle upbringing. If Draco weren't here, Harry might easily have gone to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. Draco's presence simply fills a void of knowledge that Harry has about the wizarding world.

"Or maybe you could say _four_ are out of the question," Draco adds after a moment. "Koldovstoretz is still technically in Europe, though I'd say Russia is far enough away to be out of the Dark Lord's reach."

"Then why is it out of the question?"

"I can barely handle the winters at Hogwarts, let alone in Russia," Draco says.

Harry gives him a look.

Draco shrugs. "What? I don't like the cold. Anyway, there are better schools out there than Koldovstoretz."

Harry stops himself from another eye roll. "Any others that we definitely can't go to?"

Draco taps his chin thoughtfully. "Ilvermorny in America might not be such a great idea. The British and American ministries have a strong relationship, so I highly doubt that our location would be a guaranteed secret."

Harry hates that he really has nothing to offer, and he has to completely defer to Draco's judgement. "You clearly know more about the other schools than I do," Harry admits, though it's difficult to admit any sort of weakness to Malfoy of all people. "I think _you_ should pick where we go."

Draco makes a sort of choking noise, but recovers himself. "Yes, well," he says, looking away. "I think that would be best." If he's judging Harry on his lack of knowledge about the wizarding world, he doesn't say it.

"So of the six schools left open to us, where do you think we should go?"

"There's alot of good schools around the world, some of them older and with better reputations than Hogwarts, but I think the best would have to be Uagadou, in Uganda," Draco says. "It's definitely the biggest, and the oldest, too. I think if we went to the African ministry they might keep us a secret under the right of asylum."

 _The right of asylum?_

"Um, right," Harry says. He's already admitted one gap in his knowledge to his longtime nemesis, and he's not about to admit another.

"So you're okay with going to Africa? It's a long way, and they may not speak much English. Merlin knows how we're even going to _get_ there," Draco says.

Harry shrugs. "Getting there is the easy part." He holds his passport up in front of him.

Malfoy looks down to the passport in his hands and begins turning it over. "What exactly are these? When did Severus take this picture of me? Why doesn't it move?"

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Because muggle photos _don't_ move," Harry tries not to laugh. "And it's just a passport, Malfoy, nothing overly exciting."

"A passport?" He gives it an experimental flick. "Is this some of that muggle technology I've heard about? What's it do?"

"Allow you to pass ports?Honestly, Malfoy, it's just identification muggles use to travel between countries."

"Why would I need-" Draco very suddenly blanches. "Severus expects me to travel _like a muggle,_ doesn't he."

Harry wouldn't have thought that Draco's pale skin could get any whiter. Evidently, he was wrong. Harry starts to laugh before covering it with a cough. Draco glares.

"We could always go by broomstick?" Draco suggests in a quiet voice that makes Harry think he already knows it's not really an option.

"Sure, if you're feeling particularly suicidal." Both of them are strong fliers, and have some of the best brooms money can buy, but over such a distance, and across open ocean where the weather can change in a heartbeat? It's far too dangerous. Not to mention highly illegal. Even if it was a possibility, they'd have to go at night so as not to be seen by any muggles.

"So you consider a broom suicidal, but you're happy to get into one of those giant metal birds?" Draco asks, still looking so white he might as well be ethereal.

"It's called a _plane,_ Malfoy, and you've got a greater chance of being in a car crash than a plane crash."

Malfoy crosses his arms firmly. "Well, you won't catch me getting into one of those, either."

Harry lets out a long breath. _Malfoy certainly isn't going to make this easy._

* * *

"Can you slow down?" Draco yells from the back seat of the taxi. His knuckles are pure white from how hard he grips the door side hand rest. Harry is laughing, almost uncontrollably so. They're not even doing the speed limit, but he's never seen anyone look as terrified as what Malfoy does from riding in a slowly moving car.

In any other situation, Malfoy would undoubtably be defending his honour with vigour, especially since it's Harry who's laughing at him, but he seems unable to focus on anything but surviving his current 'plight.' Harry catches the confused eye of the driver in the rear-view mirror.

"Sorry about him," Harry says, struggling through his laughter. "He's led a very sheltered life." The driver shrugs, but doesn't say anything as he turns onto a roundabout, causing Draco to let out a very un-Malfoylike shriek and shut his eyes tight.

As they get closer to the airport, a large plane flies over the car towards the runway, the jet engine noise loud enough to silence Harry's laughing. "As if this isn't bad enough," Draco says once the noise has subsided, "now you want me to get in one of _those?_ _ **"**_

"We got to the airport easily enough, didn't we?" Harry asks. "Nothing to it."

"We're not actually there yet," Malfoy mumbles quietly, probably to himself. "This stupid box of metal on wheels could still go up in a ball of flames any second as far as I'm concerned."

As expected, that does not happen. The taxi driver drops them off at the airport entrance, and Draco practically leaps out the door when it comes to a complete stop. Harry pays the driver and steps calmly out of the taxi, moving to the back of the car and retrieving his and Draco's trunks.

"Are you sure Hedwig is fine in there?" Harry asks, motioning towards Draco's trunk.

Unlike Harry's very regular case, Draco's is upgraded with undetectable extension charms and expanded with wizarding space. It's also been charmed with anti-muggle detection spells.

"Aquila pretty much lives in there," Draco says. "It's never been a problem."

 _Such a pretentious name for an owl._ Harry knows from his astronomy classes that Aquila is a constellation - something to do with an eagle.

"So now what?" Draco asks. "If we have to get on one of these bloody things, I'd rather get it over with."

Harry doesn't answer, he just drags his trunk behind him and steps inside, motioning for Draco to follow. Inside is a large board of incoming and outcoming flights.

"Where is the African ministry?" Harry asks, turning to Draco. He's not even slightly paying attention. Instead, he's gazing around the large room like he's found himself on an alien planet.

Harry waves a hand in front of his face. "Hey! Where is the African ministry?"

"Alexandria," he says simply, not even turning to look in his direction. Luckily, there is a flight to Alexandria leaving in just a few hours. Harry drags the bewildered Draco along to the desk for British Airways.

Harry is increasingly nervous as the clerk organizes their tickets and checks their passports. Snape had assured that they were official, but does Snape even know what that really means? Draco wouldn't even register as a citizen, having grown up totally in the wizarding world, so how on earth could he have a passport?

But the clerk waves them through, taking their bags and telling them that their flight leaves in a few hours and which gate they need to go to. Harry's only guess is that Snape must have confunded some sort of official in order to get their paperwork sorted.

"Can we really trust these muggles with our bags?" Draco asks as they walk towards the customs area.

"So long as _your_ bag definitely has anti-muggle charms, yes," Harry says. It seems enough of an answer for Draco.

When they find themselves in customs, Harry has to drag Draco aside. "You have to do whatever the customs people say, alright? No questions asked," Harry says firmly.

"Yes, yes, I know. You made that very clear when you forced me to put my wand in my trunk," Draco says irritably.

While Harry has never been in an airport before, it's common knowledge that airports have some of the strictest security in the world. They'd easily discover anything they have hidden on them, like a wand, or if they ended up going through their luggage, anything strange, like magical textbooks. Harry just hopes dearly that the charms on Malfoy's luggage hold even under muggle technology. Magic often behaves erratically around technology, so there's no real guarantee.

But nothing really holds them up going through customs. They both have to remove their belts and Draco an expensive watch, but the security lets them pass without any hassles. "I really thought you were going to argue when they made you take off that watch," Harry says.

Draco purses his lips. "If they hadn't given it back, I would have. My mother gave it to me." He says it with such longing in his voice that it's clear he doesn't really want to leave them behind.

Harry hesitates for a moment before speaking. Things are relatively peaceful between them at the moment, more peaceful than they've _ever_ been, really, but he's too curious not to ask what he wants to. "Malfoy, why are you here? What makes you want to leave?"

He looks up, and for a moment Harry thinks he's about to give an honest answer. Then he scowls. "Why are you?"

 _Translation - you first._

So Harry says nothing, and they continue further into the airport.

* * *

"This is not food," Draco argues loudly.

 _Deep breaths, Harry._

"What, you've never had a hamburger before?" Harry asks, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

He's trying desperately to be patient with him, since he's never ventured into the muggle world before, but if Draco complains any more Harry's not convinced he'll be accountable for his own actions. He doesn't mind the plethora of questions, but when every single one has undertones of utter disdain for muggles, they become more than a little tiresome.

"Oh, I've had hamburgers, but that's not what this is."

"It's a Big Mac, Malfoy, just eat it."

Malfoy eyes it warily, scanning it from all sides.

"That is definitely not real beef," he decides absolutely. "And it's crooked. How hard is it to stack ingredients on top of each other?"

Harry scoffs. "Says the guy who's probably never cooked a meal in his entire life."

Draco holds a hand to his chest in mock offence. "I'm wounded. I'll have you know that I'm a terrific cook. Everybody should know how to cook their own meal."

"Oh right," Harry says. "When was the last time you cooked for yourself instead of having a house elf do it for you?"

Draco purses his lips, but doesn't answer. In Harry's eyes, that's answer enough. Eventually, Draco takes a bite. He chews slowly, testing out the flavour. He examines the rest of it before taking another bite, this time far more confident.

Harry hides an amused smile behind his own meal. More than anything it makes him wish he were here with Ron, instead, introducing his best friend to something so very muggle. He's sure they'd have a great time of it. Even if this is currently entertaining, in the back of his mind he simply can't forget that this is _Malfoy_ he's with.

By the time they're finished eating, Draco seems to be feeling a range of different emotions, confusion chief among them. "I stand by that that is not proper beef," Draco maintains. "But it wasn't completelyawful. I just can't understand why."

"Most muggles tend not to question it," Harry says. Malfoy screws up his nose, presumably at the idea of being lumped in with muggles in any way at all.

"From now on, we eat regular food," Draco says, confirming Harry's suspicion. One minute he's saying that it wasn't terrible, the next he's refusing to eat it because its associated with muggles.

Harry grabs him by the wrist and drags him away. "Just come on."

The flight is still an hour off leaving, but Harry wanted to explore a little rather than wait at the gate, a decision he's very much regretting having had to drag Draco along with him.

"I thought you said that muggle pictures don't move," Draco asks, though it sounds more like he's accusing Harry of lying to him.

When Harry looks, he finds Draco staring at a TV situated on one of the walls. It's playing a continuous ad for one of the airline companies.

"They don't," Harry says. "That's a TV. It's a video, not a picture."

"What's the difference?"

"Believe it or not Malfoy, I'm not an expert on all things muggle. They're just different."

"But howare they different?"

Harry finally turns to face him directly. "Why do you even care?You've spent the last several years calling Hermione 'Mudblood' because you hate muggles so much, so why are you so interested?"

The words seem to take Malfoy by surprise. "I don't know…" he says, "I guess this is just not what I was expecting."

"What, you were expecting them to be uncultured, unintelligent animals? You thought they'd be huddled around fires and stewing in their own filth? Well guess what, Malfoy, muggles are _ahead_ of wizards. I wouldn't live any other way than as a wizard, but stepping into Hogwarts was like stepping a hundred years into the past. Wizards are not as superior to muggles as what you think," Harry snaps.

Draco scoffs. "You can't possibly mean that. You know they used to burn us at the stake, right?"

Harry almost laughs out loud. "Three hundred yearsago, you twit. Things have changed quite a bit since then."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Malfoy says disbelievingly.

Harry waves his hands around him. "You areseeing it! Do you know why these airports have so much security? To stop anyone who might bring harm to the people of Britain from entering the country, and to protect other nations from anyone dangerous who might want to bring harm to them. In Alexandria, we'll find the exact same experience. Does that sound like the same sort of society that would burn people at the stake?"

Draco raises an eyebrow. "So there are so many dangerous muggles that they need that much security just to keep them out? You've basically just told me that they're _exactly_ what I already thought."

"And there are no dangerous wizards? Voldemort is just, what, driven? The war is just a bit of a spat about ideology? Darkness exists in all humanity **,** Malfoy, not just muggles."

Malfoy doesn't seem to have anything to say to that, so Harry simply walks off in the direction of the gate. Malfoy follows behind without a word. Neither of them have anything to say to each other until the plane arrives and they're lining up to board, and Draco has to confront the fact that they're actually going to get in a plane.

"Is it going to fall out of the sky? What can I expect?" Harry laughs, but shrugs. Draco eyes him warily. "You have actually _been_ on one, haven't you?"

Harry smiles widely, not caring one whit about how frightened his travel companion now is. "Not even once."

Draco throws his hands in the air. "Oh, great. So for all you know we could be heading straight for our deaths."

"Yep," Harry says calmly. "Now give the nice lady your ticket."

Draco's hands are unsteady as he hands over the ticket to the older woman. She smiles sweetly at him and pats the top of his hand with her own. "Anxious flier? Not to worry dear, it's quite safe." Draco looks anything but comforted, nevertheless, he follows Harry down the airbridge to the plane itself.

The hum of the engine can be heard as soon as they step on board, and it doesn't look to do anything positive for Draco's nerves. By the time they find their seats on the left side of the plane, he's actually shaking.

"Relax, Malfoy. In six hours time we'll be in Alexandria," Harry says.

Draco looks up in alarm. "Six _hours?"_

Harry shrugs. "You didn't expect it to be as fast as a portkey, did you?"

"You expect me to stay in this metal tube for _six hours?"_ He says, now almost yelling, and getting up from his seat.

A woman sitting in the centre aisle looks across sympathetically. "You poor thing. I used to hate flying myself, but there's really nothing to it. We'll be there safe and sound in no time, promise."

Draco barely even acknowledges that she said anything at all. The woman takes the hint and turns forwards again, but Draco's rudeness gives Harry an idea. "The scion of the great house of Malfoy, having to be comforted by muggles. What would daddy think?" Harry whispers, just loud enough for him to hear.

Draco glares, but sits back down. "If this silly muggle contraption doesn't kill us both first, I might end up killing you when we get to Alexandria," Draco says. Harry smiles and leans back into his seat, relishing in victory.

When the plane takes off, Draco grips both handrests for dear life. Harry is paying him no attention. Until now, none of this has seemed real. Until now, part of him has still been expecting he would return to Hogwarts for another year with his friends - his family.

As of right now, his life is changed forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"I can't believe you _cried,"_ Harry laughs as they walk up the airbridge into the Alexandria airport.

Draco purses his lips, but doesn't refute it. He couldn't if he wanted to, not with Harry sitting right next to him, and especially not with Draco having gripped Harry's arm like a child looking for protection. The son of a prominent Death Eater holding on to the arm of the Chosen One for dear life. He'll never live it down.

"You can pretend that was normal all you like," Draco mumbles, sticking his nose in the air indignantly, "I know better. Things that are intended to fly shouldn't feel like they're falling out of the sky."

"I _told_ you already, it was just a little turbulence. What did you think the captain meant when he said it was going to be a bumpy flight?"

"Well you said it was supposed to be safe! You know what? I don't even care. Let's just get our bags and go," Draco huffs, a pink flush rising up his neck and to his cheeks. Harry can't help but smirk. It's not often that one gets to see embarrassment on the face of the supposed brightest star of the Malfoy family.

They follow the crowd towards baggage claim, and Harry hopes that the fact that there was no security to meet them at the gate means that they found nothing suspicious about Draco's magical trunk. Sure enough, when they reach baggage claim, Harry and Draco's are amongst the first to be out on the carousel. Harry lets out a sigh of relief.

"We'll check on the owls when we get outside," Harry says. "Let's just get out of here." Draco looks pleased to hear it. Luckily, customs going into the country seem far less stringent, and it's only a few more minutes until they're standing outside the airport.

The first thing that Harry notices is how much warmerit is than Britain, without it being overly hot. Whereas Britain is more often than not wet and miserable, in Alexandria he can feel the afternoon sun beating down on him, and the sky is clear and so, so blue.

In front of them is a long string of taxis, Arabic writing plastered on their sides in elegant cursive script. Draco drags his trunk up against the wall, and after a quick glance to see if anyone is looking, sticks his head inside. Moments later he lifts himself back out and closes it up. "They're both fine."

 _Well, so far so good. If things continue like this, we could be enrolled at Uagadou by the end of the day._

"So, where's the African ministry?" Harry asks, dragging his trunk towards the nearest taxi. Draco groans with the understanding they're going to have to get in yet one more muggle vehicle, but he answers anyway.

"Ever heard of the Library of Alexandria?" It sounds familiar, but Harry shakes his head. Draco lifts an eyebrow. "Must you be such an educated cretin?"

The driver gets out and gives them a look up and down, before motioning towards his taxi in silent question. Harry nods, and the driver moves to open the boot of the car so that they can put their luggage in. After doing so, they climb in the back seat. "Fein?" the driver asks, looking at Harry in the rear-view mirror. Harry looks to Draco for help, who shrugs.

"Where?" The driver repeats in a thick accent.

 _Oh._

Again, Harry looks to Draco. After all, its up to him from here. When it comes to the magical community, Harry isn't likely to be much help. "Library of Alexandria?" Draco asks in a high octave, clearly unsure of whether the driver will know what they're saying. Harry sees the man scowl, and he reaches over to his glove compartment for a small pamphlet. He points at the cover.

"Yes!" Draco says, pointing at it. "The Library!" With a nod, the driver plants his foot to the floor, and the taxi shoots off.

 _Holy crap!_

This is not like any drive he's ever been on. In England most driving is laborious and careful, at least from his limited experience. This is an altogether different beast. "Where the hell is the seatbelt?" Harry yells out as the driver swings around a corner, throwing Harry straight into Draco. He looks around on the seat, but there's definitely no seatbelt in sight.

The taxi driver careens through traffic, foot planted to the floor as he weaves between cars. He's not the only one. The other cars on the road are just as maniacal, moving almost atop one another and squeezing into any gap they can find. Their car screams to a stop as a donkey of all things moves in front of them, pulled by a man on foot. The taxi driver waves his hands around wildly and yells in Arabic.

The roads in Alexandria don't seem to have any structure whatsoever. There doesn't seem to be a correct side of the road to drive on, and there's far more than just cars on it, either. Bicycles dragging small trailers on them weave throughout the traffic, and pedestrians cross the road willy-nilly, forcing cars to slam their breaks to avoid hitting them.

Harry's faced Voldemort, a basilisk, a horde of dementors determined to suck out his soul, and even a dragon, but somehow this is almost equally as terrifying.

"Merlin I hate you, Potter!" Draco whines next to him, blanching to almost the exact shade of a sheet of paper.

 _If we make it to the Library, it'll be a miracle._

* * *

When the car slows to a stop outside the library, it's not just Draco that scrambles out for dear life. "That was pure madness," he says, slowly getting up from his hands and knees. "Weren't you the one telling me that muggles aren't crazy?"

Hard to argue that point given the circumstances, so Harry says nothing, just helps the driver retrieve their luggage from the trunk of his car. He gives him a handful of money, probably more than he should be handing over.

"I can't believe you're paying him," Draco says. "That psycho almost killed us."

Harry shrugs. "Let's just get to the Ministry." Now that they're actually on the right continent, he just wants to get on with why they've come. The sooner he can figure out how to get rid of the broken soul within him, and learn to better defend himself, the sooner he can return home. No matter how justified he can make his decision in his head, it still feels like he's abandoning everyone back at Hogwarts to the wrath of Voldemort.

Harry gazes over the building the taxi dropped them off in front of. It's utterly muggle, very modern, and certainly not what Harry had been expecting. It's like a sloped cylinder, sitting in the middle of a city block of water, like a moat around a castle. The writing above the entrance, in multiple languages, notes it as the 'Bibliotheca Alexandria.'

"Is this really it?" Harry asks in utter disbelief.

Draco scoffs loudly. "You think wizards would really be located in such an eyesore of a building? No." Without another word he's walking away from the entrance, and further down the block. Harry follows.

"Can you feel that?" Draco asks, looking down into the water covering the rest of the city block.

Harry _can_ feel it, like a tingle just under the surface of his skin. _Magic._ More than likely it isn't a feeling he would normally take notice of, or at least, not while spending any time in the wizarding world. But after a long trip through places so utterly muggle, it's an especially comforting sensation.

"But then, where is it?"

Draco looks over at him, and with a wry grin, steps over the small fence and splashes into the water, dragging his trunk straight in behind him. Harry rushes over to the edge of the water and looks down, expecting to see Draco floating in the water, but all he sees are the spreading ripples from where he landed.

 _He could have told me._

With an annoyed huff, Harry steps over the fence and into the water behind Draco. Strangely, the water doesn't feel wet, more just a cold, sticky presence on his skin as he falls through with barely any resistance at all. The world whirls around him, and suddenly he's landing on solid ground, feet first. He blinks once, dazed.

"That was weird," Harry says, looking around at his new surroundings. It feels the same as before, with the hot sun still bearing down on him, and the ocean can still be seen off in the distance, close enough that he can hear the waves crashing onto the shore.

The rest of their surroundings though couldn't be more different. They're definitely out of muggle territory, judging from the number of owls flying overhead. It looks like some sort of marketplace, a little like Diagon Alley, only instead of shops the business owners sell their wares from tented wooden stalls.

Harry barely spares them as much as a glance. More distracting is the most grandiose building that Harry has ever seen, comparable even to the splendor of Hogwarts castle. It's like a picture out of Greek myth, a great white structure of tall patterned pylons and a great domed roof.

"That's more like it," Draco says from nearby. "I actually feel like a wizard again."

Harry can't help but agree. Even if he's not critical of muggles like Draco, there's something that feels very vulnerable when it's just the two of them out in muggle territory. It's a strange feeling, when in reality they're probably far safer amongst muggles right now than with their own kind. But magic is such a huge part of who they are, and it's like being naked in a winter storm to be without it.

"How is this place hidden from muggles?" Harry asks. "It's right out in the open…"

Assumedly, it's hidden by magic in much the same way as Diagon Alley, though that at least is hidden amongst the London buildings and crammed into a smaller space. This though, even if hidden by various charms and enchantments, is in a wide open space, and should realistically be easily discoverable.

"Ever heard of a mirror charm?" Draco asks. Harry shakes his head, almost rolling his eyes before Draco's expected insulting response. Shockingly, that's not what Draco does. Instead, he nods understandingly. "I thought not. It can only be performed by a type of magic that isn't really practiced in Europe. It basically creates a pocket dimension over the top of what already exists. The entrance is through the water."

 _So it's hidden in plain sight?_ Draco's definitely right about one thing at least. Harry's never heard of any spell that could hide a place so thoroughly, and yet be so easily accessible by those who know how to find it. There's plenty of charms to keep things hidden from muggles, and smaller spells like notice-me-not, but nothing so effective as this 'mirroring charm.' But that really begs the question, if the type of magic it falls under isn't practiced in Europe, then what kind of magic _is_ it?

Harry scowls. "It's some sort of dark magic that they practice at Uagadou, isn't it? That's probably the reason you wanted to come _here_ instead of one of the other schools."

Draco shakes his head ever so slightly. "Oh, did I not mention? The mirror charm requires the sacrifice of a dozen virgins," he drawls sarcastically. "Get your head out of your _ass_ , Potter. Just because a spell is rare and powerful, doesn't mean it's evil. That's a mistake the British ministry makes every single day."

"You're the one who said it's not magic that's practiced in Europe," Harry challenges. "If it's not dark, then why wouldn't it be?"

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose in a thinly veiled attempt to control his annoyance. "It's called ritual magic, and it's not practiced in Europe because it needs to be _wandless_. How many people do you know back home that are capable of wandless magic?"

 _Just Dumbledore._

"Can we just get on with this?" Draco continues. "The sooner we get to Uagadou, the sooner we can get out of each other's hair."

Harry couldn't agree more, so he simply gestures for Draco to go ahead, with Harry following close behind. As expected, the ministry is in the Greek looking building, so that's precisely where they're headed.

"This building must be old," Harry comments as they move past the giant stone pillars. He can see the age in them - magic being the likely reason they've survived even this long.

"The muggles believe it was burned down over two thousand years ago. In reality, it was hidden by magic, and now it's the biggest and most extensive library of magic in the world. There's alot of people who believe magic _originated_ in Africa, you know," Draco says.

 _Magic originated here?_ That's definitely a good thing. If he's going to be able to find a way to get rid of Voldemort's broken soul from inside him, then surely it'll be found here.

Just like the ministry back in Britain, the African ministry is teeming with people, all pushing past each other trying to get on with their duties. Despite it being uncomfortable, Harry's glad for it. Despite the fact that they stand out like a sore thumb, just due to the color of their skin, it'd be hard for anyone to recognize them amongst a crowd of this size.

"Do you have any idea where we're actually _going?_ " Harry asks.

Draco frowns and looks around, though it's clearly difficult to see anything through the crowd. "I'm looking for a reception of some sort. Surely there's _somebody_ we can ask."

Harry almost jumps out of his skin when a strong hand lands on his shoulder. When he turns around, he's face to face with a large dark-skinned man. He's bald, though still quite young, probably only in his mid thirties. His shoulders are broad and the arms crossing his chest are thick and well toned. His form would actually be quite imposing, if it weren't for the kind smile plastered onto his face.

"You two look lost," he says with a deep voice and thick African accent. "Something I can help you with?"

"Wait, aren't you -" Draco begins before being cut off.

"Why don't you both come with me," he says, lifting the hand from Harry's shoulder and stalking past the two of them. It sounds like less of a suggestion and more of an order, and despite the fact that he's a complete stranger, Harry finds himself compelled to follow. Draco does too, albeit with a frown on his face.

"Who's this?" Harry whispers to Draco as they follow the man pushing his way through the crowd with clearly well practiced ease.

"You're kidding, right?" Draco asks. At Harry's blank look, he rolls his eyes. "That's Babajide Akingbade - the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"I thought Dumbledore was Supreme Mugwump."

Draco shakes his head. "He _was_ , but he was ousted after Fudge denied the Dark Lord's return," he whispers. "They let him back into the confederation when the truth came out, but not as Supreme Mugwump. Babajide Akingbade is the youngest _ever_ to hold the position."

 _What interest would he have in us? Unless he knows who we are…_

The crowd begins to thin out as the man guides them up a nearby staircase and into a long hallway on the second floor. As Harry expected, the inside of the building is just as lavish as the outside would suggest, with beautiful artworks hanging on the walls and busts and statues taking up any spare space.

Harry and Draco are guided into an office off the hallway, with the title of Supreme Mugwump written on the door in ornate golden letters.

"I can't say I expected to find Harry Potter of all people wandering the hallways of the ministry when I got up this morning," Babajide says after magically closing the door behind them with a wave of his hand. "Does Albus know you're here?"

 _Crap. How does he even know who I am?_ Back home he's quite used to the fame of being the boy-who-lived, but he'd never have thought anybody would know him when he's practically on the other side of the world - especially by someone who isn't actually part of the British wizarding community.

"No, I imagine not," the man continues without waiting for Harry's answer. "I don't believe he'd allow you to be here, especially accompanied only by a Malfoy."

Now it's Draco's turn to be surprised. "Don't meet his eyes," he hisses to Harry.

 _Oh, shit._ Harry quickly snaps his vision away, trying to remember anything from the disastrous Occlumency lessons he'd had with Snape.

"I don't need legilimency to know who the two of you are. I've followed the situation with this so called Dark Lord quite closely," the man explains. "Not to mention that I've actually spent a little time amongst the British ministry myself."

Slowly, Harry raises his gaze. He probably shouldn't trust the words of a stranger so easily, but for whatever reason Harry finds himself believing them. Surely he can trust the Supreme Mugwump, of all people. Then again, Dumbledore only recently held the same position, and he's been raising Harry only to die for his cause, so clearly he's good at placing trust in the wrong people.

"Please, you can't tell him we're here," Harry pleads.

When Babajide takes a step closer to him, Harry almost wants to take a cautious step back, but instead he holds his ground. He stays still as the man lifts a hand to gently run a finger down the length of the scar on his forehead, his pale blue eyes focused and curious.

"Very interesting," he murmurs.

 _Interesting? Surely he couldn't know…_

Babajide sighs before backing off and gesturing over to his desk, waving a hand and summoning two plush looking armchairs in front of it. Harry's eyes widen. He's seen Dumbledore perform a few small spells wandlessly, but conjuring is some of the most advanced kind of transfiguration magic, widely regarded to be the most difficult subject, at least at Hogwarts. To perform such difficult spells _wandlessly…_ he's definitely skilled.

Harry moves to sit down, with Draco hesitantly following behind him, looking more cautious than Harry's ever seen him, as though he expects Babajide could jump across his desk and begin strangling them at any moment.

"Well, I can understand why you'd want to run… _especially_ being who you are," Babajide says.

"I am _not_ run-" Harry starts, but Draco reaches over and claps a hand firmly over his mouth.

"We're here to request amnesty by right of asylum."

Babajide leans back in his chair looking entirely unsurprised. "I guessed as much," he says simply, now directing his unflinching stare towards Draco.

Draco shifts in his seat, obviously unsettled by such a firm gaze. "I am certain we meet all the necessary criteria," he continues with an air of confidence that is eerily reminiscent of his father's. "Our own government is at war with a dangerous megalomaniac, and both myself and Potter are caught-" he stops when Babajide swipes his hand through the air, as if magically spelling away Draco's concerns.

"Believe it or not, young Malfoy, but as Supreme Mugwump I am required to understand such International Magical Law, even the old and mostly forgotten like those related to Amnesty."

Draco snaps his mouth shut, and Harry can tell that he's itching to get in his own snide comment. Thankfully though, he keeps his mouth firmly sewn shut. Snapping back at the man who is probably in the best position to actually help them is probably not the best idea in the world.

"But forgive me if I'm mistaken, but are you not the son of one of Voldemort's most loyal followers? I don't necessarily believe that all sons must follow their fathers, but do you truly expect me to believe that you do not believe as your father does?"

Harry's heart sinks. He knows absolutely what Draco believes in his core, and he's certainly not a good enough liar to make Babajide think otherwise. That's if Draco _does_ lie, and it seems out of character for him to ever pretend to be anything other than who he is, even under the current circumstances. Either way, its unlikely to make this any easier.

"Just because my beliefs may coincide with… _his_ ," Draco says, and Harry doesn't know whether he's speaking about his father or Voldemort. In the end, it probably doesn't matter. "That doesn't mean I have to want to join him in the genocide of all muggles and muggleborns."

As hard as it is to admit, considering Draco's more than liberal use of the slur mudblood towards Hermione and every other muggleborn he comes across, the point is a good one. Sirius told Harry once that the world isn't split into good people and death-eaters, and even though Draco's sympathies clearly lie with the idea of pureblood dominance, he doesn't necessarily have to want to join up himself.

"I appreciate your candour," Babajide says, lifting an eyebrow, more in admiration than surprise. "But I wonder if you know what you are actually asking. Have you considered the consequences for this choice?"

Draco doesn't hesitate for even a moment, though whatever consequences he's talking about are entirely lost on Harry. "Yes. Do you think I would be here asking if I didn't know what it meant?" Draco snaps, his formerly controlled patience now beginning to fray. "Is this possible or not?"

Babajide knits his fingers together atop his mahogony desk. "Yes, it's possible."

"Wait," Harry interrupts. "What consequences are we talking about here?"

Babajide lets out a deep sigh, but it's Draco he looks at, not Harry. "You didn't tell him?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "Potter is prone to displays of foolishly noble sentiment," he says, as if that's a perfectly valid answer.

"Tell me what?"

Babajide turns to face him, and Harry can't help but catch the flash of sympathy in his eyes. Harry looks from Babajide to Draco, who's now looking purposefully away. That in itself is odd. Draco has never missed a chance to not only enjoy Harry's misery, but often enough be the cause of it himself. If he doesn't want to see Harry's reaction to whatever this Amnesty Law entails, that doesn't bode well at all.

"Tell me," Harry presses.

Babajide's mouth twists slightly. "From the moment you accept asylum, Harry Potter must cease to exist."

Harry frowns, about to tell him that's exactly the point, but Babajide doesn't stop there.

"Understand exactly what I mean by this, and the effect that it will have on your loved ones. Nobody you know will have any idea where you are. They won't know if you're safe or not. Given the state of things in wizarding Britain, some might worry that you're dead. Any contact or access of resources from your home will break the Amnesty and you will be forced out of the African wizarding community."

 _No contact. None at all. They might think me dead?_

"Absolutely not," Harry says, shaking his head. "I can't do that to them. Not even contact them without telling them where I am to let them know that I'm okay? I just can't."

Draco lets out a sigh and looks at Babajide. "See?"

"You should have _told_ me, Malfoy. If you knew I wouldn't agree, then why the hell would you even bring us here?"

"Much as I am loathe to admit it, you are not an idiot. You knew deep down that you wouldn't be able to have any contact with Granger and the Weasel. Whatever your reasons are for leaving, does this actually change anything?" Draco says, the unexpected voice of reason.

The answer is no, or at least, _mostly_ no. There is still a piece of Voldemort inside him, and it needs to be dealt with. He also needs to learn, something that will be much easier away from the looming threat of Voldemort and the disaster zone that is wizarding Britain right now. But even so…

"What if Voldemort attacks or something, and I'm not able to do anythingabout it? What if with my disappearance he becomes more brazen?" Harry says softly, more of a whisper. It's not that he thinks Voldemort is afraid to face him, but the prophecy does state that eventually, one of them will end up killing the other. If Voldemort knows it too, and Harry is gone, then what's left to stop him?

Babajide has a serious look, and is stroking the bottom of his chin as though in deep thought. Draco though, begins to laugh. "Oh Potter, only you could be so arrogant!"

Harry's lips tighten into a thin white line. For a moment its easy to forget that Draco doesn't actually know about the prophecy. For him it probably does seem like arrogance.

"You think the Dark Lord isn't brazen already? I have no idea what would make you think he would be frightened of a sixteen year old wizard of average talent, but I assure you, he isn't." Draco might have been laughing before, but his words now haven't the slightest hint of amusement.

 _He's right._ Even without knowledge of the prophecy, Draco has hit the point home. Even if Harry was there and Voldemort attacked, he doesn't have the power or talent to do anything about it. The best chance to stop Voldemort is still studying at Uagadou. If Harry has to let his friends worry about him in order to gain the power to defeat Voldemort, then it's worth it.

"Damn it," Harry huffs, throwing his hands in the air and letting his head hang over the backrest of the chair. "Fine. So we aren't allowed to have anything to do with our lives back home. How do we go about this asylum thing?"

"You can leave that to me," Babajide says. "Once, we had a ministry department dedicated to hiding those requesting Amnesty, though the time for it to be needed has long since passed. I think it best in this situation that only a few people know. I'll inform the Minister, and for safety's sake, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Are they trustworthy?" Draco asks, eyeing Babajide warily.

"If you want Amnesty, you have no choice _but_ to trust them."

Draco mutters something under his breath, but he knows Babajide is right. Harry can actually understand where he's coming from though. The both of them are more or less placing their lives and futures in the hands of three strangers. Three high ranking strangers to be sure, but strangers still. It's not a comfortable feeling.

"For now, I think you should book into the hotel nearby. Your new identities will take a few days to organise. Also, I don't think a couple of charms to disguise your appearance would be a terrible idea. Not too many in our community would be likely to recognise you, but we do frequently have visitors from around the world, so its best to err on the side of caution."

Draco frowns. "Sure, but how are we supposed to use magic? We both still have the trace."

Babajide smiles. "I wouldn't worry about that too much. Nobody will bat an eye if they catch you casting a few minor charms here and there."

"But it's called the _International_ Statue of Secrecy because it's worldwide, isn't it?" Harry asks.

"Yes, but it is up to the individual nations ministries to uphold that law. We find that we can trust students who have a few years study under their belts. So long as you don't go casting spells in crowded muggle areas, there won't be a problem," Babajide answers.

Harry lets out a sigh of relief. As comforting as it is just to be in a magical community, it's nothing compared to the feeling that they can actually use it themselves. Clearly, the laws here are far less stifling than in Britain, or at the very least, less enforced.

"But I have quite alot of work to do, so I'll be in contact," Babajide says, rising from his seat behind the desk. "Make sure you keep yourselves disguised, and remember - no contact."

 _No contact…_

"Right," Draco says, unfazed. "Hurry up, Potter."

Just as they're about to exit the office, Babajide's deep voice follows behind them.

"While you're here, you should visit the Library. You might find it quite… enlightening."

Harry could be wrong, but he would swear that Babajide was staring right at Harry's scar as he said it.

* * *

 **Thanks to the people who are following/favouriting, and especially for those who are taking the time to review. It always makes my day when people take time to critique.**


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